


In a High Tower

by MajorTrouble



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Flirting, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Pining, Self Confidence Issues, The Witcher Flash Fic Secret Santa 2020, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28392783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorTrouble/pseuds/MajorTrouble
Summary: Lambert doesn't know what to do with the sharp-witted, incredibly attractive, annoying as hell bard that Geralt has brought to the keep this year. But maybe, just maybe, he can figure it out.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 13
Kudos: 128
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge: Secret Santa (TWFFSS20)





	In a High Tower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lutes_and_dandelions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lutes_and_dandelions/gifts).



> Flash Fic based on this prompt:  
> [](https://ibb.co/n1jtWbg)
> 
> \---------  
> Hi!
> 
> Flash Fic secret santa for [lutes-and-dandelions](https://lutes-and-dandelions.tumblr.com/)! I hope you like this and that it met your expectations. I loved the photo prompt, but had trouble with coming up with a plot so thanks to [FrenchKey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchKey/pseuds/FrenchKey) for the help <3

There was a spot in a high tower near the very top of the crumbling remains of Kaer Morhen that Lambert liked to go to when he couldn’t stand to be around anyone else anymore. The roof of the tower had caved in long ago, letting in the elements so that most of the wood on the inside had rotted away. 

The hole left behind gave a perfect view of the sky. 

At the top of the stone stairs, Lambert had carefully reconstructed a ledge big enough to lay down on and sturdy enough to withstand his weight. It sat underneath the only part of the roof that still remained intact and was protected from the driving rain and snow. 

Over the past few years, he’d come up to the tower to be alone with his thoughts. The cold and quiet made him feel peaceful. However, his thoughts had become more jumbled recently. Tangled up with emotions and all the other bullshit that he usually avoided with anger and irritation. Usually the keep was quiet. What with there only being four Witchers left, they rattled around in the vast empty space like rocks in a barrel. This year was different. This year, Geralt had brought his bard - Jaskier. An extremely young-looking, spruce man with chestnut brown hair that was constantly falling in his eyes. Sharp, intelligent eyes coloured a stormy blue flecked with silver. 

Lambert shook his head. He’d come up to the tower on this night to let the ice cold air clear out his thoughts, banishing them. Obviously that wasn’t working. Instead, he concentrated on gazing out over the blue-toned landscape below him, snow blanketing everything in a thick, sound dampening layer that left the edges of every rock, every protrusion softly rounded. The moon was barely a quarter full, waning slowly, and in a few days time would disappear completely. For now, it carved deep shadows into the dips and valleys, making the silence somehow more poignant. 

The thoughts whirling around his brain started to settle, cooled now by the night air. Maybe he was over-thinking things. Maybe he was reading too much into the smirks and winks the bard gave him. Instead of being offended by Lambert’s harsh words when he’d first met the other man, Jaskier had parried back, quick tongue delivering a ribald joke that had even Vesemir giving a surprised huff of laughter. Secretly, Lambert had been pleased - even delighted - at having someone to banter so openly with. But on the surface, he’d done what he’d always done: made a rude comment followed by an even ruder gesture, and fled.

The Witcher’s breath fogged in the air as he sighed. Jaskier hadn’t been put off by him, though. He’d shot back comments and snippy remarks just as fast and accurately as Lambert. When the bard had brought down his lute and played for them in the small hall after dinner, Lambert had rolled his eyes and complained loudly about the foppish man disturbing his well-earned peace. Jaskier had responded by singing a song Lambert had only ever heard in a brothel involving a man, a donkey, a clock tower, and a curse invoked to silence all three. At the end, he’d been laughing as much as his brothers as Jaskier brought the decidedly uncouth tale to life. 

There had been other encounters over the last two months that left him feeling both hot and cold. There was no denying that Jaskier was attractive. And he constantly smelled like arousal. He’d thought, at first, that Geralt and Jaskier were together, and made a comment to that effect, telling Geralt to make sure he started to better satisfy the bard, or someone else would have to. 

He hadn’t expected the smirk from the White Wolf. “You’re welcome to it. Would probably calm him down somewhat.”

Lambert had scowled and fled. Again.

Then there was the touching. Barely-there brushes of fingertips against his arms and knuckles against the backs of his hands. Lambert had passed it off as just something Jaskier did - he was constantly touching Geralt too: firm squeezes to his arm or shoulder, a pat on the back. But he noticed that he didn’t take the same care in his touches of Eskel or Vesemir. Only Lambert felt that ghosted contact, like Jaskier was tentatively reaching out for him. 

So now Lambert was sitting up in the tower, in the cold, trying to determine what he was supposed to do with the knot of feelings that were growing in his chest. Eskel had told him to stop being an asshole, which was incredibly unhelpful, and he wasn’t going to talk to Geralt about it again. He drew his knees up to his chest and stared up at the stars, wishing for the thousandth time that he could meditate like his brothers. Instead, he tracked the moon across the sky, only moving again when it dipped below the horizon. 

In a few days’ time, the moon would be gone and the dark sky would be lit up with the strange curtains of lights that happened once a winter, reflecting green and purple against the snow. It was beautiful to see, but only happened in the very depths of winter, on a clear night, and only this high up in the mountain. It was something awe-inspiring to see.

And just like that, he had a plan. 

He had to be subtle about it, of course, which was not one of his strong suits. He had four days to get everything in place. Not a lot of time, but it also felt like an eternity. Lambert was not known for his patience, either. 

The first hurdle came when he tried to actually talk to Jaskier. 

The bard narrowed his eyes when Lambert came into the library mid-afternoon. Jaskier was sprawled across the overly-large chair, engrossed in a book that Lambert thought might be written in Elder. Before he could open his mouth, Jaskier was interrogating him.

“What are you doing in here so early? There’s still daylight left. Shouldn’t you be fixing the roof on the barn? Vesemir will not be pleased to have you wandering off,” Jaskier smirked up at him before going back to his book, idly turning a page. 

Lambert bristled. “Well fuck me, didn’t realize you were keeping such a close eye on me, bard. Not that it’s any of your fucking business what I do, but the roof’s already finished.” 

“Hmmm,” Jaskier replied in an incredibly accurate facsimile of Geralt at his most non-committal. He didn’t look up from his book again as he continued, “So, what? You thought you’d come bother me instead? I’m not terribly interested in trading barbs today.” It was only then that Lambert noticed the slight tremble in Jaskier’s hands and the dark shadows under his eyes. What was wrong? Had the bard not slept well? Had he grown ill? 

And why did he care about that so much?

“Uh,” Lambert started, feeling wrong-footed all of a sudden. “I wanted to give you this.” He held out a thick book that had been languishing in his room for several years. Jaskier’s eyes snapped to him immediately, drawn up in surprise. “I thought - thought you might like it.” His voice trailed off as Jaskier swung his legs off the arm of the chair and dropped the book he’d been reading on the floor beside him. He reached out for the one Lambert was holding, taking it from the Witcher and staring down at the cover in sudden awe. 

“Where did you get this?” he breathed, his hands gripping the edges tightly. 

Lambert smirked. “Payment for a contract, years ago, near Oxenfurt. Bastard had no coin, but said this was worth something. Never did believe the fucker, but Eskel said you might like it.”

Jaskier hummed quietly as he sat back, opening the book on his lap and tracing the embossing on the title page. “I would say so, ya.” He scoffed lightly. “Whoever that man was, he had no idea what was in his possession.” He turned another page and Lambert’s medallion vibrated lightly. “This - this is a first hand accounting from just after the Conjunction of the Spheres. Written by an Elven bard. I didn’t think any copies remained - they were all supposed to be destroyed in the Great Purge.” 

Lambert leaned forward, catching Jaskier’s eye, before twisting his hand into the sign for Igni. Jaskier had just enough time to cry out before the fire washed over the pages of the book, dripping over them like water over stone, before disappearing. He looked up at Lambert, eyes wide.

“It’s spelled against damage and magical destruction,” Lambert shrugged, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t think even ripping it to shreds could do anything to it permanently.”

“Yes, well, _telling me that_ would probably have been better than the demonstration.” Jaskier huffed.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Lambert smirked, earning him a wry smile in return.

“Where indeed. Thank-you, Lambert. I - I’ll treasure it. Always.” 

Lambert ducked his head, face heating, before he nodded and fled the room. 

Over the next two days, he tentatively started returning Jaskier’s subtle touches. It felt a little clumsy to him, but the surprised, then pleased looks on Jaskier’s face made up for any awkwardness he felt inside. He caught Geralt watching him once and scowled at the older man, but only got a soft smile and nod in return, which just made him scowl harder. 

The last thing he needed was ribbing from his brothers. 

Jaskier still bantered back at him as the Witchers played Gwent in the small hall, drinking and strumming his lute, and Lambert began to feel a contentment settle into his chest. Maybe this would work. Maybe he wouldn’t fuck this up. 

On the fourth night, he woke Jaskier out of his sleep by creeping into his room and wrapping a hand over his mouth. The bard jerked awake and scrabbled at the back of his hand before recognizing the other man. He made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and a rude gesture with his hand, but Lambert just scoffed. 

“Didn’t want you screaming out and waking the rest of the keep,” Lambert explained as he released him and stood.

“Oh, so stealing into my room in the middle of the night and _accosting_ me was the better plan you came up with? _Brilliant_.” Jaskier rolled his eyes as he fought his way out the covers and off of the bed. “Why are you waking me up in the middle of the night anyway?” he asked, suspicion lacing his words.

“Because I want to show you something,” Lambert answered simply.

“And this cannot wait till morning because… ?”

“It only happens at night.” 

“Of course.” Jaskier sighed. “All right, what is it?”

Lambert shook his head. “Put something warm on. We’re going outside.”

“So, not only am I getting woken up at this ridiculous hour, I have to go out in the freezing cold? _Wonderful_.” But even as Jaskier grumbled, he pulled on thick woolen breeches and a tunic, shoving his feet into his boots and wrapping his heavy cloak around his shoulders. “All right, lead on to whatever can’t wait till morning,” he gestured to the door.

Lambert smirked as he led the way through the keep. He paused in the kitchen to grab the basket of supplies he’d stowed there earlier, and then headed outside. They walked in silence around the castle wall, neither wanting to break the peaceful hush surrounding them. When they came to the bottom of the stone tower, Lambert produced a key, unlocking the rickety door and closing it behind them. Jaskier lifted an eyebrow at him, but Lambert ignored him. 

Locked doors actually meant something in Kaer Morhen. His brothers knew that just as well as he. 

Climbing the stairs took a bit of time as they were slippery from the recent snowfall. Lambert cleared them off as best he could as they circled the walls of the stone tower until they came out at the landing he’d built at the top. 

As he moved out of the way, he smiled at the soft gasp Jaskier made. The snow-covered scenery stretching out below them was serene and unmarked by footprints - human or animal. There was no moon to shed light on it, but the snow still reflected the wane light of the stars, an eerie glow that produced deeper shadows than the last time he’d been here. He urged Jaskier down beside him, pressing them together so he could cover them both with the thick woven blankets he’d stolen from various places in the keep. He passed over a wineskin filled with warm mulled cider and settled back against the cold stone of the tower.

“Oh, Lambert, you’re right, this is worth waking for,” Jaskier breathed. 

Lambert scoffed. “This isn’t the good part yet. Just wait.” They sat in companionable silence for a time, passing the wine skin back and forth, though Lambert was beginning to feel that contentment in his chest blooming into a warmth that spread through his limbs and centered on every part where Jaskier was pressed up against him. When the bard shifted closer again, he felt himself getting tense, age-old instincts telling him to flee.

He gathered his courage and told them to kindly _fuck off_. 

As the night deepened, the strange curtains of lights slowly materialized in the air. Green and purple reflected off the snow and in Jaskier’s eyes as he stared up at the sky in wonder. His hand clenched on Lambert’s thigh, as if seeking something to hold on to, to ground him and Lambert took a chance, hesitating only slightly before laying his hand overtop of Jaskiers. Immediately, Jaskier threaded their fingers together.

And just like that, Lambert felt whole. 

He gazed up at the lights for a moment, but his eyes were drawn back to the wonder reflected in Jaskier’s face. When he finally turned to look at Lambert, his dazzling smile nearly blinding in its intensity, the Witcher felt like how he expected a moth did, drawn to a bright candle flame. 

His instincts screamed at him to shut down, to make a joke, to do _anything else_. Instead, he smiled back. 

Jaskier hesitated a moment before leaning forward until Lambert could feel his warm breath dusting his lips. “May I - may I kiss you?” His voice was soft, longing and hope laced with just a hint of anxiousness.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” he replied. And suddenly warm lips pressed against his; warm breath, warm tongue teasing. He released Jaskier’s hand only to wrap his arms around the other man, holding him close. Maybe he could do this. Maybe he could stand still long enough for this to last.

Above them, the lights continued their dance, flickering in a riot of colours, reflecting against the snow, bearing witness. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank-you for reading! Kudos and comments mean more fics, I'll have you know <3


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